Angels
by Kirueru
Summary: "My brother was killed... and it's all my fault", is all I can think of. I sit in my father's chair, awaiting the funeral which is tomorrow. I see flickers in the fireplace as if somebody was there; I thought I saw an unfamiliar shadow, and a pair of footprints following me. A small blond man appearing where he should not. Am I dreaming? Please, wake me if you're out there.


**Angels**

 **Chapter One**

 **Sinful**

Melancholy. If there was a word I could use to describe this unrecognisable and alien feeling, it would be melancholy. Gloomy, mournful, sorrowful; whatever word you could use to describe it, none of them felt right. None of them related to what I was feeling. Only melancholy seemed to click.

I was sitting in my father's large brown chair which could realistically fit two people. The piece of furniture was placed directly opposite the burning fireplace, so naturally, the flames shimmered across my skin as if they were alive and attempting to console me. The room was completely dark apart from this fire, and I must have spent a good amount of time wallowing in the events which had taken place the last few days, eyes not blinking for a second away from the light. Whenever I thought about it, I would get lost in the memories – over and over again they repeated like a record inside my mind, but with fantasy scenarios I created with my imagination. If there was another way I could have changed the outcome, I thought of it now. Although my father's lingering cigarette smoke usually knocked me sick to the stomach, it didn't bother me now. It just didn't matter in the least. Previous problems I had were outweighed by this big, fat juicy weight pounding down onto my shoulders.

My face was expressionless, I knew it. But despite my constant urges to cry out, to finally mourn, I just couldn't work up the motivation to do so. Although my shell was hard and indestructible, I was having one hell of a roller-coaster within my mind and within my gut. Sickly black bags hung low under my blue eyes from lack of sleep, and aged me tremendously... I avoided mirrors now. Whenever I looked at myself, I felt sheer disgust at the no longer recognisable face staring back at me, accusing me. My eyes did not belong to me anymore; my nose, my mouth. I was a stranger to myself. Whenever I caught my reflection in even the kitchen glass table, my heart would throb and enrage against my chest, because it reminded me of my mistake. For eternity, so long as I am cursed with this face, I will not forget about what I did, because I could see him in me. He was always a part of me. My brother.

I killed my little twin brother.

As soon as the thought came back to me, my throat immediately tightened and I had the need to hold onto something. Anything. Bringing my legs up onto the chair in front of me, I wrapped my arms around them to feel at least some sort of security. My oceanic eyes were still transfixed with the dancing fire. However, never leaving, never missing a movement from the element.

The funeral was just a few hours away, I subconsciously note. It was still pitch-black outside the window, with heavy raindrops plummeting against the glass, but I knew it was only a few hours away. It was like an internal alarm had been set, counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds. I could feel that my sandy-blond hair was wet with grease, but I couldn't care less. I sat there for another hour staring into the fireplace, with my legs bound close to my chest, unwilling to move in case my bones would shatter from feeling so fragile.

Even when I saw my own blood smothering my leg inside the car, I did not cry; even when I looked over into the passenger's seat with my brother's head enveloped in a gashing red wound, unconscious, I did not cry; and even when I carried his lifeless body out of the vehicle with trembling arms and laid him down onto the floor, pressing my ear to his chest to hear a heartbeat, only to discover there was none, I did not cry. I wanted to, I really did, but the guilt inside me prevented me from doing so – I didn't deserve the luxury to mourn for someone I murdered.

I was all alone now. Nobody to relate to, nobody to care for. No more little brother to tease. It was like God himself had given me a miracle since birth – to get through life with someone who was brought into the world at the same time as me, side by side, finger-crossed tight with this human for seventeen years of my life, only to have the Devil himself snatch it all away because of the foolish mistakes I had made. I never was the religious type, I always thought it was a load of rubbish – in fact, I still do now. The fact that someone so blessed with talent and gentle life could just... Disappear, without a single second's notice, I couldn't grasp the idea of someone existing and then suddenly slipping away to... Where?

I knew people who died; my grandmother, my auntie, but never had I thought about what had happened to them to this extent. It felt as if something which was a part of me was ripped out of my so-called soul, and thrown into the pits of who knows where. These last few days were not natural at all. Without my brother always being within my eyesight, it felt so... alien.

I move my hands to grip onto my dirty-blond hair to subside the reoccurring anger within me. There were even times I went to call his name, but then I realised... that he was dead. Gone. A name that will never be answered to again.

My glasses were sitting on the coffee table beside me. My eyes were so dry and sore, that I couldn't bear to have them on my face any longer without feeling agitated.

I saw a flicker in the fireplace, exactly as if someone had walked past it. I blinked in a tired daze, eyelids heavy, but there was nothing else to see. Realising I literally missed my father or mother walk straight past me, I slowly turned my head to the left to try and discover either one of them in the dark, but there were no silhouettes. I frowned; a sign of curiosity that I hadn't displayed since the accident.

Squeezing my eyelids tighter to try and get a better glimpse within the dark (a technique that did work when you needed glasses, no matter what anyone tells you), I give up, becoming passive yet again. However, I reach for my glasses and tiredly shove them onto my face before returning to my previous position.

Recently I have been constantly on edge when it came down to thinking I witnessed something, when in fact, nothing was there. At night when laying alone in my room, embarrassing as it is, I need my desk lamp on as replacement for a night-light, because I just didn't feel safe any longer when alone... Especially with another empty bed on the other side of the room where your dead twin brother would have slept, a person would naturally become paranoid with anxiety in case his spirit would come back to haunt you. Of course, this wasn't the only reason why I never slept in there anymore, or even hardly step onto the carpet... All of his things; his paintings, his sketchpad, his homework that he had yet to give in, I couldn't escape him for a moment. No matter where I went inside the house, the park, my college... They were places I hardly never went without him, everywhere accused me of his death, I could never forget.

Over the last few days, my mother insisted on reminding me to eat, because I apparently looked too thin for her liking. My mother and father were a wreck at first, but they must have decided to pretend that they had moved on from their mourning, for my sake, but I know this isn't the case. At least once every day I would hear my mother in another room suddenly burst out into a fit of cries, and I could tell she tried her best to keep it in. I didn't comfort her, I just simply let my hand fall to my side from the door handle, stood there for a moment, and walked to the opposite side of the house. I had never seen my father cry in my whole life, not once, until the day my brother died. I was naturally shocked by seeing the tears stream down his face, but it was such an eye-opener for me. It was the second I knew nothing would ever be right ever again, or at least for a long, long time.

My mother's nagging voice called out to me yet again inside my head. All my life for as long as I could remember, I was never considered 'thin' or 'skinny' like most teenagers aspire to be, but rather I had a healthy amount of chub enveloping me – not enough to be considered fat, but enough to be teased about it every now and again. My weight hadn't really bothered me – I ate what I wanted whenever I wanted, and since I had a stable metabolism, my weight more or less remained the same... Well, until now. It wasn't like I was forcing myself not to eat as punishment, but rather, I keep forgetting to. I would happily shove whatever food my mother presented in front of me inside my mouth, but most of the time when she'd leave it on the side, I'd forget about it, and it became inedible.

I slowly release my grease-filled sandy-blond hair and place my hands neatly down onto my knees. I work up the courage to finally glance above at the clock on the wall, which read six in the morning. I didn't deserve to attend the funeral; pained expressions filled with hate from everyone I ever knew would be directed straight towards me, because my twin brother was always their favourite. Kind, quiet, responsible, and talented... compared to the older brother, who was always obnoxiously loud with an ego as big as a planet. Always getting into trouble, even when I meant well, that was me. The only person that really accepted me was... my...

I stopped thinking about the subject immediately, and decided to carry on staring into the warm depths of the fire, because it was the only thing that calmed me. As soon as my eyes made contact with it, the same flicker in the flames greeted me yet again, my eyes widened and my heart throbbed, and my hands jolted for the arms of the chair before my body stumbled up onto my feet. I frantically scanned the living room, because I knew I wasn't alone. The echoes of my heartbeat rung loudly within my chest, and I could feel the blood pumping around my ears.

"Mattie?" I called out, almost as quiet as a whisper.

"Alfred, honey?"

My head snapped around in surprise at actually getting a response. I was terrified, I'm not going to lie. However, my frantic blue eyes relaxed upon seeing my mother standing in the doorway. I ran my hands through my dirty hair and glanced away, not wanting to meet her eyes which reminded me again so much of my mistake. I find myself taking a shaky deep breath before offering a timid smile which was physically and mentally tiring to have to do.

"Yeah, mom?" I reply, but my throat was so unaccustomed to speaking that it came out as a croak.

My mother's eyebrows immediately went down on her forehead in sympathy. She was still in her nightgown, barefooted, but slowly shuffled her way across the carpet until she was directly in front of me. I still couldn't look up – instead, the pattern on her clothing was suddenly so much more interesting. A repetitive pattern of cherries, I noticed. I felt a cold, refreshing hand come into contact with my burning cheek, and all of a sudden, my throat tightened yet again, and my heart hurt. I finally, slowly, but finally, glanced up to meet her violet-blue eyes, and I suddenly found myself thinking that I hated a mother's touch. Because no matter what, that certain touch always made you want to bawl like a baby. She has a rather square face, elegant and strong, especially on a woman – a feature which myself and Mattie seemed to inherit - with puffy, shoulder-length brown hair framing her features. I was surprised to see her smiling... A small sheepish smile, just for me. Without any words spoken, she gently pulled my face into the crook of her neck and enveloped me with her fragile arms. I was literally a foot taller than her now, but I felt like a child again inside her arms. I placed my arms on her back and we remained there for a good few minutes, until I hear her sniffle and pull away from me.

"I know you're hurting, Alfred, we all are, but this isn't your fault." She whispered, all the while observing her son, with a look of pride, despite what I did.

I sighed, "no, mom," I croaked, beginning to rub my irritated eyes underneath my glasses. "It was entirely my fault, and now you've lost your son," I confessed yet again... A line I found myself repeating over and over again, because I truly believed it was my fault. Nobody else was there – just me and Mattie, so no-one has the right to console me with words that I know aren't true.

My mother's eyebrows frowned ever so slightly at this, and her lips made a thin line. The shadows caressing her face almost made her appear as if she was withdrawing herself into the darkness, ready to try and escape and go back to bed. I wanted her to do just that, but the room remained silent with the exception of rain hitting hard against the windows.

"Alfred, you're also my son," she said finally. "What happened to Matthew, I-" her voice broke here, and so did my heart. She placed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying, and I suddenly felt alert and aware in case I said anything else to make her cry. No son or daughter ever wants to see their mother cry, especially if they're the fault. I went to reach out a hand to place a hand on her shoulder, but I stopped myself. She cleared her throat and gave an apologising look. "Alfred, Matthew is always here with us, even if you can't physically see him."

I felt the urge to roll my eyes all of a sudden. My mother and Mattie were just about the only religious ones in the family, and whenever they started conversing about their God and religion, me and dad would give 'the look' to one another and bite our tongues from blatantly saying that no such things exist.

"You felt him didn't you, just now? Is that why you called his name?" She asked rather hopefully, but my eyes narrowed and I glanced toward the fire.

"No," I repeated – a word which was becoming very familiar recently. "No, I just remembered something is all..." After this, I couldn't tell what my mom was thinking, because she observed me with such an odd look, almost as if she knew better.

No, it wasn't Mattie. I didn't feel anything which could possibly remind me of my brother... Not the smell of his watercolour paints, not the familiar sensation of when I forget he's in the same room because he's so quiet, not his voice, or anything. It was literally a flicker in the fireplace which spooked me, getting me worked up. But for a second, the smallest fraction of a second, I felt as if there was someone else in the room with me... Then again, that could have been my mother. My breath became steadier upon this realisation, because I hated anything which I couldn't see... Why? Because I can't fight it if I can't see it.

"Come on," she finally said, and began to gently guide me towards the door. "Since you're not getting any sleep, you can have a nice hot shower and get those horrible greasy pieces of straw you call hair under control." She shook me playfully and surprisingly, I found a ghost of a smile whip across my lips for a second. "I've left your... your suit on your bed, sweetheart... Put it on when you're ready, will you?"

By the time my mother pushed me into the direction of the bathroom upstairs, I realised I was still nodding in acknowledgement, so I forced myself to stop.

Small droplets of water dripped from my hair and onto my bare tanned chest as I stared down at the piece of clothing laying neatly on my bed. It was black. Very black. I found myself frowning at it. Although my mother went out of her way to pay a lot of money for this, I hated it. I hated anything formal, and I hated anything depressing. I reached down and felt the material of the coal-black tie. I shivered. Mattie would hate this... He would hate being remembered in such a dull and lifeless way – he would want colour and bursting images to represent him, not... This.

As if coming to a conclusion, I quietly marched over to our – _my_ , wardrobe, and began to frantically search for anything which was colourful and not in the least bit formal. There was no way I'd be wearing a piece of crap like that, Mattie would hate me for it. I pulled out a Captain America shirt, which naturally, had bright blue and red on it. I quickly slipped it on and turned back to the suit my mother kindly purchased. Biting my lip, I realised that I knew she would probably disown me alongside everyone else at the funeral if I pulled such a stunt, and so I sighed. I grabbed the pure-white smart shirt and began to put it over my colourful tee, and began to button it up. If Mattie was watching, he'd know the thought was there, at least.

When I was finished, I actually dared to look myself in the mirror and sort out my 'pieces of straw', as my mom kindly put it. I still looked god-awful, and I didn't look like anything I remembered. However, the more I looked at myself, the more I could see Mattie's face, too, and so I quickly combed my hair back and gelled it down carefully. But of course, that stupid strand of hair that never seemed to want to cooperate with my wishes was still sticking up. I gave up trying to push it down and slowly headed for the door, my father's voice called from downstairs, informing me that it was time to go.

I paused before opening the door; in front of me, I saw that my hands were shaking ever so slightly. I was actually going to attend my brother's funeral. The brother who I killed because of my own stupid ego. I opened the door and began to make my way down the stairs in my new, sparkling black shoes. Everyone would be looking at me, second-guessing me, accusing me. What other reaction could I expect? Every member of the family and any friend knew what I did. Using my dad's stupid car without his permission, and all because of an idiotic dare made by my so-called friends. I swallowed a lump which was forming inside my throat. Why did I insist on dragging Mattie along with me? Why did I insist on calling him a pussy because he refused? Why did I insist on physically dragging him into the car with me? And why did I insist on ignoring his angry pout when I finally started the car? I knew why; it was because I was scared, sick to the stomach, about what I was doing. I knew it was wrong, I knew our dad would find out... But I just wanted to share the blame with someone when I did get discovered, to save a little of my own neck by getting my innocent twin brother involved.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, my mother and father were waiting for me at the door. My father was standing behind my mother, his bulky form overshadowing her, in a similar suit to my own. His hair, blond, was also combed back in a similar technique as my own, but there wasn't any strands of hair escaping him. He'd put on weight in the last few years, but being similar to me, I guess the thinness in his cheekbones said he was hardly eating also. My mother wore an elegant black dress which came down to her ankles. I could see that she had brought out the black high-heels which she'd owned for years, yet never wore them because she couldn't stand the aching agony they caused her. Her brown hair was tied up into a neat bun, with some curled strands of hair which were left loose to frame her face.

They didn't look like family without Mattie being here.

Upon seeing me, my mother swooped my face up in her hands and stated how handsome I looked... Hell, I didn't feel it. However, her fingers played with my escaped stray hairs in an attempt to get them neat. She gave up rather quickly. All three of us made our way into the awaiting black car parked outside our house. A taxi, of course. I ruined my father's only car. I stepped into the back seat first and fastened the seat belt, with my mother following suit, and my father arranging himself in the passenger seat next to the driver. He told them our location, and the driver understood. Normally, taxi drivers would chatter happily to their passengers about everything and anything, but the ride was insanely quiet. For the full half an hour, the only words which were spoken was the price of the ride. My father handed him the dollars and told him to keep the change.

I looked outside the window and saw a horde of people standing outside the church, probably making idle chatter with one another. Everybody I knew was here; my family, my friends... And was that my relatives all the way from France? My heart thumped aggressively inside my chest – there was no way I would make my appearance to all of those people. All of those glares of accusation – I wouldn't be able to take it.

"...-fred? Alfred, are you okay, honey?"

I blinked and turned my head towards my mother's voice. I must have blanked out for a few seconds, because we were within the crowd, and I suddenly started to panic. My eyes shot down to the floor and my hands went directly inside my pockets. I wasn't going to look at anyone, which was final.

My parents spent a good hour accepting the condolences and cries from our friends and family, which just made matters worse, if I may add. People coming up to my mother bawling and saying they're sorry for her loss would naturally make her want to cry, too. But surprisingly, she held it together perfectly well. My father and I were silent. A few times my name was mentioned, people wanting to converse with me, but I chose to ignore. My mother apologised to each and every one, until finally, the priest confronted us and stated it was time.

As I was sitting down in the aisle to the right, I couldn't help but be intoxicated by the rich colours within the church. Royal reds and gracious golds decorated the floors, and every candle was hugged by a delicate silver or gold holder. The lighting was completely welcoming and despite the sun shining dully down upon them through the stained-glass windows with images of Saints which probably told a story, the atmosphere was that of a funeral, not celebration.

I almost jumped out of my skin when the organ music began playing. It was loud and invading, and the eerie notes made me feel as if God himself was disappointed with me. I couldn't tell whether my twin brother was already at the altar, or if he was brought in down the aisle, because I could only concentrate on the picture of him being displayed next to the coffin. Me and my brother were fraternal twins, so naturally we didn't look completely identical. His face was much more delicate and thinner than mine was, and he was naturally a little shorter than myself. His eyes took after our mother's, a violet-blue, whereas mine were completely blue. Mattie chose to grow out his hair a little longer than I would have liked it, but it suited him. Nevertheless, no matter how many differences I consistently noticed, I could still see myself in him.

My eyes blinked a few times before actually realising that my brother was laying lifelessly, dead, inside that black coffin. My mother and father chose to see Mattie yesterday, but I couldn't move from my father's chair. Now, I regret it, because I'll never see him again. He'll be buried underground for eternity, left to rot. I quickly shook my head from the thought before I actually began to puke, and at this point, the priest started to speak.

"We are gathered here to say farewell to Matthew Jones, and to commit him into the hands of God."

The priest's voice boomed throughout the building, but in a way which was sorrowful and forgiving. He went on to say a Hymn and a Prayer, which I noticed my mother beside me follow the words in silent synchronisation with her lips.

"In the Name of God, the merciful Father, we commit the body of Matthew Jones to the peace of the grave." I tiredly watched the priest let three hand-fulls of earth fall into Mattie's coffin: "From dust you came, to dust you shall return. Jesus Christ, our Saviour, shall raise you up on the last day." The man makes the sign of the cross: "You gave him life. Receive him in your peace and give him, through Jesus Christ, a joyful resurrection. Lord God, our Father in heaven, Lord God, the Son, and Saviour of the world, Lord God, the Holy Spirit, have mercy on us. At the moment of death, and on the last day, save us, merciful and gracious Lord God... Let us now listen to the words of the Holy Scripture that assures us of God's safe-keeping in life and death..."

As the priest went on, I couldn't help but take his words to heart. Those words, which clearly stated that my baby brother is dead, gives hope that he will return to me. Why? I found a heavy frown appear on my face. Religion was just something which helped a person move on from life-changing events, it wasn't actually true. Religion is something which humans created to help them in times of crises – when nothing else could be done, they prayed to an imaginary man in the sky. However, I felt as if the words were scratching themselves into my heart and soul.

Something caught my eye.

Above me, where a second level was situated on either sides of the church, almost like a balcony, was a man. He was leaning against the banister, looking down upon the whole service with calculating eyes. I could only notice that he had a mop of bright blond hair, and was dressed casually in a chequered shirt and blue jeans – not like the rest of us. He seemed to be looking inside the coffin, at Mattie, and I held back the urge to yell at him to get out. But in that instance, his head moved so quickly yet so steadily, straight at me. The fact that the sudden eye-contact caught me off-guard, forced me to react by jolting my gaze back towards my lap, and I glared daggers at the black fabric beneath my fingers.

A few seconds later upon realising the man wasn't friend nor family, I glanced back towards the area above, only to see the man had gone elsewhere. I quickly tore my head from my lap and scanned the area above, but to no avail.

The organ music suddenly began playing yet again, and a multitude of people began to carry Mattie's coffin down the altar. I almost yelled from possessive urges, to tell them not to take him away, before remembering the list my father gave me the other day about what would happen at the service. The coffin was to be carried outside to be buried. Everyone around me got up to their feet and followed after Mattie, uttering whimpers and sobs every now and again. Figuring I was being a little slow today, and noticing I was one of the last to stand up rather than the first, I followed after the crowd, but not without a hand on the shoulder from my father first.

At the graveside, after having to fight my way through the piles of people to be at the front, to be one of the closest to my own flesh and blood, the service continued. Mattie, now with the coffin properly covered, was lowered down into the grave slowly and graciously, and my mother grabbed my hand for comfort – no doubt she had my father's on her other side, too. This was her time, my father's time, and my time, to say our farewells.

"My dear, wonderful, precious little boy," my mom began, and my heart tore itself up right then and there. "You will forever live alongside us, no matter what, you will look over us all, won't you? Warn us when we're about to do something stupid, like you always do." She gave a sad little laugh in an attempt to lift her own mood, but her lips began to tremble. "Your father and your brother, although they look cold right now, they are dying on the inside, trust me." She looked at both of us, and when her eyes met mine – that was it. My lips parted and my eyes squinted upon feeling tears threaten to appear.

"Mom, don't-" I pleaded, with a sob to my tone. I didn't want her to make me burst out crying here. I didn't deserve to cry. I suddenly discovered that it was hard to breathe, and so my breaths came out shaky and artificial. My mother went on to say her words of farewell, and even my father gave some heart-breaking confessions about his little boy.

Until I could feel everyone's eyes upon me after a good amount of silence, waiting for me to say my goodbyes. I couldn't. I just stood there with my fists clenched together to my side, trembling from being forced to grieve right here and now.

"I-" I whispered, more or less to myself. Nobody must have heard it, because the priest decided to move on with the service. He walked up to the graveside and read another final prayer: "Give him, o Lord, your peace and let your eternal light shine upon him."

Everyone at the congregation uttered a final 'Amen'.

"Let us go in the peace of the Lord." The priest now faced us all, "Receive the Lord's blessing. The Lord bless you and watch over you. The Lord make his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you. The Lord look kindly on you and give you peace; In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

"Amen."

The celebration service afterwards was too much for me. The sun bothered me – how dare it shine so bright on such a dull day? I just sat alone in the corner with the same single drink of cola, the lively music blasting inside my brain, for hours and hours on end, intoxicated only by the memories of my little brother. In the end, I caught my father's arm and pleaded for us to go home. However, his face was flushed with alcohol and so, he shoved some money my way so I could catch a taxi.

As I prodded outside into the cold midnight air, with the music booming not as loudly behind me, I finally released my top few buttons so I could get some air into my system, I couldn't care less about my Captain America shirt showing. My face was flushed from the heat, and I could feel that my hair was no longer as neat as my mother previously mentioned.

I stepped forward and leant my elbows on the cold metal poles which acted as a banister, but not without pulling my phone from my pocket first. I unlocked it with the swipe of a finger to be greeted by a picture of me and Mattie just a few weeks back. He was trying to paint for his class and I felt the urge to be an annoying little brat and distract him by taking a number of pictures of us. In the end, he gave in and decided to take a proper one. I rubbed my hand across my face as a sign of defeat – the defeat of emotions and exhaustion finally getting the better of me. I quickly dialled the number for the taxi, told the receptionist my location, and the wait finally begins.

Deciding it would be unhealthy to keep thinking of my dead twin brother at this point, my mind returned to the strange man I'd seen in the church. What on earth was he doing there? Were random strangers allowed into funeral services? I don't recall ever reading that anywhere. I tapped my fingers onto the metal I was leaning on whilst staring at a tree in the dark distance. He could have been part of the Laity or clergy, but his clothes were not in the least bit holy or religious. The most curious question of all, though, would be how he managed to get away so quickly.

As my thoughts moved from one topic to the next, my long awaited taxi finally showed itself, and I thankfully climbed into the back and told the driver my destination. I idly listened to his chatter for a good thirty minutes, with nods and grunts here and there which told him I was listening. I really couldn't give a crap about your daughter just giving birth. My brother just died, for crying out loud!

When he finally pulled outside of my house, I near as dammit threw the money at him before making my great escape out of the car and to the front door. I fumbled with the keys, I slouched my way up the stairs, and I walked into my dark bedroom, switching on the light. I looked around. I looked around more slowly. I sigh. Grabbing the clothes, I more or less threw them off me onto the floor before turning off the light and quickly making a mad dash for my desk lamp. Switching it on, I frantically scan the room with panicked eyes before placing my glasses down onto the desk and silently slithered underneath the covers on my bed. Honestly, I was such a child. Scared of the dark... I'm seventeen years old, for God's sake.

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I let out a long and deep yawn before curling up onto my side. I was just fine for a few moments, dozing off to sleep ever so slowly. However, the silence was my only company, and this was my only chance. I turned around to face my brother's bed. There was no mound to indicate that he was fast asleep.

Right then and there, I cried. I cried for what seemed like hours, with tears streaming down my face and soaking my pillow, with whimpers and undignified sobs escaping my mouth constantly. I had never cried so hard and loud in my entire life. The priest's words echoed within my mind, over and over again. My brother's face was melded into my memory, and I found myself apologising into the darkness, all alone.

My brother was dead. I killed my brother.

Sinful.


End file.
